


Let Me Count the Ways

by Sarek and Amanda Archive Maintainer (Selek)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Judith Brownlee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:34:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selek/pseuds/Sarek%20and%20Amanda%20Archive%20Maintainer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another story about how Sarek met Amanda.  </p><p>Written by Judith Brownlee; transcribed by Terry</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Count the Ways

Let Me Count The Ways

By Judith Brownlee

Transcribed by Terry 

 

His dream was ominous and filled with fear and terror. In his sleep he fought the nightmare, his mind twisting and turning. Suddenly the anguish was gone and a terrible emptiness took its place. Inexplicably, the emptiness was doubly horrifying. In a panic, he tried to escape it by awakening, and the temperature change broke him free. He was awake.

 

He lay on his back in the comfortably warm sands of a Rio beach. Blinking, he looked up at the source of the cold. A man in uniform stood between him and the pallid sun of Terra, casting a chilling shadow across his body. He sat up, out of the shadow, and looked questioningly at the policeman.

 

"Sir," the policeman said, "there's been an accident."

 

Suddenly his dream came back to him with brutal intensity -- the emptiness! He pressed his hand against his head and cried out suddenly, "T'ana!" He struggled to his feet and then began to run toward the ocean.

 

There was a small knot of men down by the water's edge. Before he could reach them they parted and he stopped short. The scene froze in his memory: T'ana, pale and still — black, black strands of hair slicked across her cold, unmoving face by the sticky sea water that dripped slowly down and soaked into the sand like blood.

 

The policeman reached his side.

 

"T'ana," he said again, his voice a whisper now.

 

The group of men closed around her again, lifted her, and then moved past him, away from the water. The policeman held out a card to him. He took it blindly at first and then calmed himself enough to read it.

 

"What happened, Lt. Vigil?" he asked quietly, as he returned the card.  
Vigil looked at him sharply for a moment, then activated his tricorder to record his image and voice. "The ocean is tricky here sometimes, even for a good swimmer," he said.

 

"She...was not a swimmer."

 

"Oh? When did you see her last?"

 

He glanced at the lowering sun. "It has been approximately three hours and 13 minutes.

 

Vigil looked at him sharply again, but he continued without noticing the lieutenant's reaction. "She wished to... to...go in the water. Not to swim...just to be in it. Our planet has not such quantities of natural surface water. I said it was too cold for me...that I would lie in the sun instead and try to keep warm. I fell asleep. Your air is thick and sleep comes easily."

 

"May I see your identification, sir?

 

Slowly he returned to the area where he had awakened and removed a card from the wrap that lay crumpled there and handed it to Vigil.

 

The policeman's eyebrows went up at the information on the card. He spoke to the tricorder. "The victim's companion is Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan." He looked up at Sarek. "Her name, I take it, was T'ana. Also a Vulcan?" Sarek nodded. "What was your relationship?"

 

Sarek was staring up the beach where the little huddle of men was putting T'ana's body into an air ambulance. "She...was my bond-mate."

 

"Your...wife?"

 

"There is no word...yes...that will do...she was my wife."

 

As she entered the room, she could tell the two boys were disturbed. Not that they raised their voices, as Terran boys would, but she had come to recognize the subtle signs of emotion that the two Vulcan children still displayed despite their twelve years of Vulcan training.

 

Sron, the smaller of the two, looked around at her entrance. "T'amanda," he said, pronouncing the ‘a’s’ in broad Vulcan fashion, "an unhappy thing has occurred."

 

She continued into the room and placed her tapes and tape viewer on a table. "Amanda," she replied, correcting his pronunciation to the short "a" sound. "I would think by now, Sron, that you would remember that Terran female names do not use the Vulcan prefix." She smiled to soften her words, knowing that the mistake had been made only because of the emotions he was still trying to control.

 

Sron inclined his head slightly and replied formally, "Thank you, Teacher." The other boy, Sotan, looked at them gravely.

 

Amanda settled herself in an armchair facing them. "Your Terran is good, my students, but usage is something that also must be learned. Now, Sron, what unhappy thing?" 

"T'ana is dead." The two young faces were calm, but serious.

 

With a stab of emotion, Amanda gripped the chair arms, "Dead?"

 

Sotan replied. "The manner of it was most unique. It was in the...ocean."

 

"Drowned?"

 

"That is the word. Such a thing would not happen on Vulcan, there being no oceans there for thousands of years."

 

Fleetingly, the memory of T'ana's beautiful face danced before her. Unsteadily, she rose and moved to the table and fumbled with the tapes. "I regret it was my world that took her life," she said in Vulcan.

 

Sotan gave the ancient reply. "She will be mourned."

 

Wordlessly she nodded, remembering the time she had seen the Ambassador and T'ana standing together, not touching, but somehow Intimately together. Her hand was unsteady as she sorted through the tapes. There was a silence in the room.

 

Finally Sron spoke. "What do we study of Terra today, Teachir?"

 

With an effort, she pushed the disturbing news away for a moment and turned to them with a tape in her hand. She strove to maintain a calm exterior, to spare them the embarrassment of her emotions.

 

"You know the history of your people much better than I do," she said. "I thought, however, that it would be of value to you to hear and discuss the Terran viewpoint." She fitted the tape to the viewer. "This is a portion of a recent history of the diplomatic relations between Vulcan and Terra by Hsian Lo, an eminent Terran historian." She activated the viewer and the screen lit up with the face of the middle-aged Oriental.

 

"First contact with the planet Vulcan in the Eridani triple star system occurred 53 standard years after the first Interstellar vessel left Terra." The picture on the viewer changed to a view of Vulcan from space, red and angry-looking. "Exploration teams from the unit on the North American continent of Terra, then known as the United States of America, or the USA, made the first contact."

 

So as not to disturb the flow of words from the viewer, Amanda moved quietly to the window. The Vulcan embassy was probably the oldest government-owned building in the complex of Rio de Janeiro, but with reason. The Vulcans had requested a non-environmentally controlled dwelling specifically, much to the mystification of Terran officials. Amanda was quietly thankful for that fact. Her year on Vulcan with the first official Diplomatic Contact Unit had prepared her for the fact that Vulcans were comfortable in much higher temperatures than she. In an e-controlled building she would have had little chance for respite from the heat the residents of the Embassy considered normal. Slowly, she cranked the old fashioned window to its widest opening. The viewer muttered on.

 

"Due to the brevity of these first contacts, it was thought that the Vulcan people were not technologically advanced, an error of Judgment not soon corrected." The planet view of Vulcan on the screen gave way to a montage of Vulcan life of the first contact period, notable in its exclusion of any evidence of the advanced Vulcan accomplishments. "This erroneous impression, however, was what led to the signing of only a standard trade and distressed spaceman treaty with the Vulcan Council."

 

"An error that was deliberately encouraged by T’Pau," replied Sron, looking up at Amanda. Silently Amanda nodded as she crossed the room again. She saw no need to discuss that in detail...the boys knew it all better than she -- and understood it better also. She reached the door to the hall and opened it, pulling it into the room, hoping for a breeze from the window to stir the heavy hotness of the room. She mused for a second over the strange awkwardness of having to leave room for the door to swing -- such a waste of wall space. She stood by the doorframe to catch any coolness as the recording went on.

 

"For almost the next 100 Standard years the only significant contact between Vulcan and Terra was with itinerant Vulcan traders." The screen showed a typical pair, male and female, brightly and barbarically dressed. "Few ships were allowed to land on Vulcan and then only in distress. There is no way of knowing how long this situation would have continued except for the outbreak of the Axanar hostilities."

 

"It always comes down to war, doesn't it, to spoil the best of plans."

 

The deep voice startled Amanda out of the heat-induced lethargy she had slumped into as the recording had droned on. She saw that the two Vulcan boys had silently risen. A quick glance over her shoulder showed whom they honoured.

 

"Ambassador!" she said, flustered. "I...I'm sorry if we're disturbing others. She moved to turn off the viewer.

 

"No, “said Sarek holding up his long-fingered hand. "No...let your lessons continue. These young ones were given you to teach them Terran culture. I paused only because I could not resist commenting on the words of the respected Hsian Lo. Vulcan would not be entering the Federation without the Axanar War; I would not be on Earth; and --" He broke off for a   
moment and Amanda saw something as tangible as  
a wall rise up in his eyes. The aides waiting for him in the hall were motionless. “— and many other things would not have occurred either." His voice was calm, his face still and pale. "Well," he said, looking at her, but not seeing, "...continue...." He gave a blind wave of his hand and suddenly left, aides following silently after.

 

For a moment Amanda stood motionless by the door staring fixedly down the narrow, ancient hall. The viewer nattered on. Sron looked at Sotan.

 

"Teacher," said Sotan, "shall I stop the recording?"

 

Amanda did not reply and Hsian Lo spoke on about war and battles, and then eventually of peace, and finally of the Federation. Amanda sighed suddenly and turned to them. Their questioning faces were not what she saw, however. Before her still hung the vision that had held her gaze on Sarek's back long after his figure had disappeared. She had seen it in that Instant, that split second, before the Mil had gone up...a shivering, frightening, unbearable...emptiness.

 

"Even on the eve of the negotiation*, there was still question whether Vulcan would consent to join the Federation," said Hsian Lo, and Amanda flicked the control switch off.  
Sarek and his aides entered the office of Terran ambassador McCullough quietly. McCullough's secretary looked up with a start as she realized that one of the alien aides was standing at the corner of her desk.

 

"Ambassador Sarek to see Ambassador McCullough," The Vulcan's voice was low and vibrant, and his Terran was perfect.

 

Alice Rowley was an excellent secretary, so she kept her exterior calm, thinking as she did so that Vulcans weren't the only experts at self-control. She stared firmly   
back at the Vulcan by her desk. Calmly, he met her gaze, waiting. She tapped the intercom signal and spoke to her desk.

 

"Ambassador Sarek and his party have arrived,

 

There were several heartbeats of silence, and Alice's gaze jumped back to the dark eyes regarding her so solemnly. Suddenly she repressed a shudder and looked away. The desk spoke to her.

 

"I'll be out immediately."

 

The door to the main suite swished open and Ambassador McCullough himself emerged, red-haired, red-faced, with his hand extended, as he moved directly to Sarek.

 

"Welcome, Ambassador." Quickly McCullough grasped Sarek's hand in a hearty handclasp. Sarek disengaged as soon as protocol could be served, and nodded to the florid Terran.

 

"Ambassador McCullough. It is gratifying to see you again."

 

"Please, Ambassador Sarek, have your staff make themselves comfortable. I believe our discussion is to be private today?"

"Certainly." At Sarek's glance, the aides disposed themselves on a chair and a bench of the waiting area.

Beaming, McCullough gestured to the suite door. Calmly Sarek preceded him through the door, which swished shut behind them both.

Alice Rowley found herself staring at the Vulcan who had spoken to her, and abruptly tore her gaze away. Her mind had been free-associating: oriental -- satyr -- Satan — bats — vampire.... Suddenly she shook her head slightly to clear away the unpleasant debris that her unconscious had suddenly dumped In her head. Briskly, she resumed her work, but not without an occasional sudden glance at the silently waiting, calmly watching aliens.

 

McCullough's hand wavered over the liquor bottles on his antique sideboard and then dropped away. He laughed nervously as he paced back to Sarek who was seated in the chair McCullough reserved for those he intended to soft-soap. It was the most comfortable chair In his rather over-large office. He broke stride for a second as the thought occurred to him that perhaps a Vulcan might not find It so. The thought startled him so that he dropped somewhat unceremoniously into his own chair, rather than carefully lowering himself as usual. As he met Sarek's dark eyes, he laughed again.

"Caught myself. I almost offered you a brandy, Ambassador. It seems difficult to get used to --   
the fact that Vulcans don't use alcohol."

 

"More precisely, we have no use for it, as alcohol is not an intoxicant for us, Mr. McCullough. Harmless, and rather pointless to imbibe." 

"I still should remember. Such details are important when dealing with other peoples."

 

Sarek said nothing, but remembered the firm handshake McCullough had given him. Time enough later to let him know that a race of touch telepaths avoids whenever possible all casual touching.

 

"Before we begin," said McCullough, "I would like to express my sympathy for...your loss, sir."

 

Sarek nodded in acceptance, "She will be mourned," he replied simply.

 

Discomfited by the control exhibited by his guest, McCullough quickly turned to other matters. "Ah...as you know, Ambassador, the major talks between us have been concluded. Documents are now being drawn for your iBprlntlng and for mine. Basically, our work is done. There are some details, however, that I would like to iron out — some minor points I felt could best be  
served in an informal discussion like this. A discussion where we both didn't feel on display -- could be more candid, perhaps, than in open session."

 

"I understand, Ambassador McCullough."

 

"Now, that's one thing. I would feel more comfortable, sir, if you would call me Harris, my given name, and permit me the same privilege." McCullough beamed at Sarek to cover his nervousness at making this first attempt at intimacy. He felt incongruously like he had just asked Miss Simpson, his lower form instructress, if he could call her Josie.

 

Sarek noted his uneasiness and did his best to do what McCullough would call unbend. He tried to relax into the uncomfortably soft chair he had been given, and bent his lips into the slightest of smiles. "Sarek is my given name, Harris. Vulcan family names are generally used only on ceremonial occasions and are, in any case, unpronounceable for most Terrans. You may call me simply Sarek."

 

McCullough felt uncommonly pleased at this first step. "Fine! Fine!" 

"What are these 'minor details,' Harris?"

 

McCullough bent himself to the task at hand. "First of all, Sarek, the delegation has...sensed --that's the word I guess -- sensed a certain reserve in your people every time the matter of inviting Matriarch T’Pau to a seat on the Federation Council is mentioned. There has been nothing said, you understand, but we get the feeling there is a problem there."

 

Sarek's dark eyebrow quirked upward. These Terrans were more perceptive than he had given them credit for. He looked at Harris McCullough for a moment and revised his estimate of him upward a few notches. Leaning back into the yielding chair he placed his elbows on the chair arms and touched his fingertips together.

McCullough, mistaking his silence for hesitation, leaned toward the Vulcan. "I assure you, Sarek, this is strictly off the record. I am recording this meeting, but the computer is programmed to release the tape to my voice code only. If you — "

Sarek put out a hand to stop the flow of words. “No, Harris. I am not concerned with violating of confidences, or any other such thing." He paused again, staring at the red-faced Terran who was looking at him with such a puzzled expression -- what an amazing display, reactions flickering across his face like a viewer screen.

"Fascinating, he murmured.

McCullough frowned in confusion.

 

"You are correct, Harris, “said Sarek. "There is ...a problem concerning the invitation you have extended to T’Pau."

 

"Well, if she isn’t the correct choice, then who...?"

 

"T’Pau has been very resistant to the Idea of Vulcan making any kind of alliance with the Federation. She is, however, the correct choice."

 

"Then that's why she isn’t a member of your delegation?"

 

"That is correct. The council seat, however, must be offered to T’Pau If it is offered to any Vulcan." He paused visibly, staring across the tops of his fingertips. "We are hoping that, by delivering the Invitation to her personally, rather than by subspace radio, we can bring her to see the logic of accepting."

 

Absently McCullough wiped moisture from his forehead. "That explains several things."

 

"We believe," Sarek continued, "that she is making decisions about Terra and about the Federation without sufficient data. We hope to provide that data."

 

"You...want her to get to know us better?" 

 

"Imprecise, but approximately the situation."

 

"We had a delegation on Vulcan for a year."

 

"A delegation is essentially a sheltered group, Harris, as we are. Isn't It true that your people --out there...." Sarek gestured to the blank wall "...know as little of what Vulcans truly are, as those on Vulcan know little of what Terrans truly are?"

 

The big Terran nodded slowly. "Yes...one wouldn't have to even go out of this building to find that."

 

"Then you understand?"

 

"I understand that you have a problem. I have no Idea of what to do about It."

 

"It is not expected that you would. Leave It to

 

"Still, I am glad to learn of this, Sarek. You may not be aware of this, but things will turn out better for it. Now I can lay some groundwork on public relations that will help cushion the reaction here if T’Pau cannot be convinced. If you are successful it will not be totally wasted effort, and if you fail we can still make the best of a bad situation."

 

"Bad situation?"

 

"It's a matter of losing face, so to speak, if she turns us down. No one has ever refused the Invitation to a seat on the Federation Council. It will take skilful handling to soften the shock."

"Losing face. I understand this concept somewhat imperfectly, but I can accept its importance in this case. I'm gratified that this meeting has proved of use, Harris."

McCullough bounded to his feet and bounced over to the Vulcan's chair. "Fine! I'm relieved you feel that way. Frankly, there had been some concern on my part about this."

"Indeed," replied Sarek, rising, "Why?"

"Well, some peoples are offended at what they term ‘prying'."

"Offended?" "Yes."

 

"Indeed." Sarek moved toward the door. "Will I be seeing you again soon, Harris?"

 

"At the next formal session, Sarek, when the documents will be presented."

 

"Excellent." The Vulcan paused at the door, which swished open and stayed open as he stood within range of its sensors. Sarek raised his hand in Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Harris."

 

Awkwardly McCullough copied his guest's gesture. "Hm...," he racked his brain for a reply.

 

Softly Sarek smiled and murmured, "'Peace and long life' is considered an appropriate response, Harris."

 

McCullough smiled back. "Peace and long life." The Vulcan dropped his hand and turned to leave the room. "Sarek, said McCullough, and the alien looked back over his shoulder. “Before you return to Vulcan," the Terran continued, "I will have a Terran response to that."

 

There was a slight twinkle in Sarek's dark eyes. "I shall be anticipating that, my friend." He stepped away and the door swished shut, hiding them from each other.

 

The chilly mountain wind whipped Amanda's hair across her eyes. Dully, she pushed it away from her eyes as she watched the aerial tramcar moving away down the mountainside. She could still see Daniel standing in the car, staring back at her. She swallowed, trying to rid her mouth of the dull taste it had acquired. Now the car was very distant and she could no longer make out his figure.

 

Her eyes began to swim with moisture not wholly caused by the wind. She closed them and conjured up his face: high cheek bones, dark Eurasian eyes, slightly slanted, straight black hair that he wore close and flat to his skull.

 

Hugging her arms against the chill she turned away from the landing station and walked to a waiting bench and sat down out of the wind. Her thoughts were still chaotic and she tried to bring some order to them, but wisps of their conversation still eddied and twisted in her brain like the wind itself.

 

Daniel's voice, stiff, faintly embarrassed, but controlled: "My family disapproves... foreigners ... sorry it came to this...the Soongs are very old-fashioned... it would be better...try to understand...."

 

Her own voice, sounding so young and hurt even to her own ears: "...don't understand...why?...thought that you had told them...be friends...?"

 

Then his carefully controlled face, looking at her with pity...pity... receding as the car raced away.

 

Suddenly she was overwhelmed and put her hands to her eyes to weep. Strangely, no tears came, and eventually she raised her head and gazed unseeingly out over the massive city that flowed about the feet of the mountains.

 

There was a knock at the door of Sarek's study. He looked up from his viewer, still slightly startled by the lack of door signals in the building the Terrans had given them.

 

"Come."

 

The door swung open and his two aides entered. Suska was the elder of the two and walked with the slight carefulness of a Vulcan past one hundred and fifty. Serk was slightly younger than Sarek and was taciturn even for a Vulcan.

 

Sarek gestured. "Take chairs."

 

They were seated quickly and looked at him expectantly.

 

"Ambassador McCullough wanted primarily to ask me about the hesitancy that he and others in his delegation have sensed concerning T’Pau’s invitation to sit on the Federation Council.

 

Serk raised an eyebrow.

 

Suska looked quickly at the two of them.

"Sensed?" he asked.

 

"Oh, certainly not on any operative level of sensitivity -- but there is certainly more there than we had assumed."

 

"Interesting," said Suska.

 

"It seems,” said Sarek, "that it is probably best-that they do now know the full problem. It seems Ambassador McCullough anticipates some adverse reaction to T’Pau’s possible refusal, and can now set in motion techniques designed to offset such a thing.'

 

"Adverse reaction?" replied Suska. "An Interesting conjecture."

 

Sarek nodded slowly. "I begin to believe that we have not even looked at the most Important problem raised by this alliance."

 

"Problem?" said Serk.

 

"All the plans we make — all the plans they make -- are at best faulty, at worst, catastrophic. McCullough Is totally unaware how uncomfortable his traditional handclasp is for a Vulcan, a touch telepath. We are surprised to learn that the fact that T’Pau may exercise her right to refuse a commitment she does not believe in may be received with such Impact by the Terrans and other Federation members as to require extensive surreptitious efforts to circumvent that impact."

 

Suska nodded. ”Yes, Sarek, it is clear. We do not know each other very well...but we will learn."

 

"How?"

"By exchanging visitors to our respective planets, by telling our new allies about such things as the handclasp greeting."

 

"Telling is not the same as understanding."

 

"Can we expect to have understanding with an alien race? No Vulcan has ever thought such a thing was possible."

 

"No, Suska, but these Terrans are more like us than any other humanoid race we have met."

 

The two aides stared at him without speaking.

 

Sarek sighed softly. "I know there are some very significant differences, physically and mentally, but ...compared to the Andorians and Tellarites...."

 

"I see what you mean," replied Suska. "But, Sarek, the kind of understanding you are talking ato-t implies a level of empathy which is not lightly played with...especially with aliens. The very fact that we know them so little -- why, we don't know what we would be getting into."

 

"It could be tried on a one-to-one basis first--between two individuals."

 

There was a brief silence and then Suska spoke. "Fascinating. It opens intriguing vistas."

 

He stared meditatively into space. Serk was looking straight at Sarek with undecipherable eyes. Sarek sat calmly waiting for them to begin to comprehend the dimensions of this idea.

 

"What about the Terrans, Sarek?" asked Suska.

 

"I don't know. You're the first I have mentioned this to."

 

There was another silence. Sarek looked at Serk. "You have said nothing yet, Serk."

 

Serk remained silent a moment longer.

 

"There are precedents," he finally replied. "During the Reforms, inter-marriage between clans was encouraged to hasten the end to suspicion and hatred of other clans."

 

"Marriage?" said Sarek, stunned.

 

"Why, yes," replied Suska. "What you are talking about is mind bond -- Vulcan to Terran. In our culture that usually only occurs within marriage."

 

Sarek was amazed by the Implications of Suska's remark. He sat there, groping for thoughts, wondering why he had made this logical progression without seeing the obvious implications, fearing to look too deeply into his motivations.

 

Serk folded his arms as he sat watching Sarek, eyebrow raised.

 

  
Amanda entered the Embassy building still in a state of shock from her catastrophic meeting with Daniel Soong. Her trip down the mountain by cable car was a blur; the air-taxi ride, a numb nothing. Stumbling up the ancient steps, she wanted only to somehow reach the room she had been given there in the Embassy, to hide until the memories had time to begin to fade and heal. As she ran haltingly down the hall, she felt panic and self-pity beginning to tear at her, and she tried desperately to hold onto control. Just one of the Embassy offices her feet slipped slightly on the slick terrazzo and her ankle turned painfully, bringing her down to the floor. She caught herself with both hands and the shock of it buzzed in her wrists. Hot tears of pity now sprang to her eyes and she sat crumpled against the wall, her ankle a bright and throbbing blur of pain. She cried then for herself, for what she had lost, for her hurt, physical and other, and because there was no one else to cry for her. She did not see the figure that came to stand over her or the booted feet beside her knees.

 

Sarek stood amazed, looking down at the young girl on the floor of the hall before him. Never before had he seen a Terran so completely lost in emotion, so far from control. Like a novice medic he found the sight of so much emotion, like the sight of blood, a little unnerving, but there was pain to attend to. The aides in his office, the conversation he had just left, faded from his mind.

 

He sank down, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Miss Grayson," he made his voice firm and commanding.

 

Startled by his voice she jerked away from the wall and looked at him with horrified eyes. "Ambassador.'' she exclaimed in a distorted voice and began fumbling in her kit to bring out a tissue. Calmly he folded his arms on his knees and waited while she removed the moisture from her face and eyes. When she finally seemed more recovered he spoke again.

 

"May I help you, Miss Grayson?"

 

She began to blush, a phenomenon he was not unfamiliar with in Terrans, and looked away toward her feet.

 

"I'm sorry," she stammered, "to keep you on the floor like this, but I've hurt my ankle."

 

He looked at her feet, studying the injured ankle intently. "Yes," he said, noting the rapid swelling. "I would advise you not to try to walk Just now." He looked back at her and she dropped her eyes, embarrassed. "Suska is a healer, Miss Grayson, but I am uncertain as to whether he could be of much help. Shall I call him?"

 

"It's not serious, Ambassador. I've done it before and, although I should have a doctor look at it, that's not immediately necessary." She was poking the tissue back into her kit and avoiding his eyes.

 

"I see. How may I help you?"

 

With an effort she finally looked at him and tried a smile. "I'd like to get off the floor somehow. I feel so foolish."

 

Without another word he scooped her up in his arms. She gasped with surprise as he did so, then said nothing, but put an arm around his shoulder to ease the carrying. Cautiously she looked up at him. His eyes were straight ahead and he was taking her to her room.

 

It occurred to her that his eyes reminded her of Daniel...or was it that Daniel's reminded her of him?

 

The Ambassador had deposited her on her bed and stood now beside her looking down at her, hands clasped behind his back. She felt very...awkward, having him there, and looked despairingly around at the personal Items strewn about the room, like pieces of herself on display. But he hadn't noticed and was still looking at her. Uneasily she tried to release him.

 

"Thank you, Ambassador, I — "

 

"Miss Grayson," he said, cutting her off, "today another Terran asked me to call him by his other name because he felt we could speak more easily that way. Please call me Sarek."

 

Amazed, she stared at him for a moment. Never, the whole year she had been on Vulcan, had she...but he was waiting for her answer. "My name is Amanda," she said, eyes wide.

 

"Amanda," he said, broadening the ‘a's’ as her student had.

 

She bit her lip to hold back the automatic correction, and nodded silently.

 

"Amanda," he repeated, "your pain is not all here." He pointed at her ankle.

 

She wanted to deny it, to say she didn't know what he meant, but the feelings all rushed back now, and she turned her face away.

 

"Amanda," he said again, and she finally reluctantly faced him. "You have been on Vulcan. Perhaps you know us better than any Terran, for you know our children. You know we have a talent for...healing...of all kinds?" Then he held his hand with fingers spread beside her face and waited.

 

She was stunned for a moment as understanding of what he was proposing came to her. She felt the typical panic of a non-telepathic being at the thought of such a final invasion of privacy.

 

"Ambassador," she said, staring at him, "...Sarek, I don't understand. I mean, I'm Terran...."

 

"It is time for Vulcan and Terran to begin to look for understanding between them...to make a contact." His hand was still by her face and again his eyes asked the silent question.

 

Despite her fear and astonishment, she suddenly felt very sad and resigned. His eyes held hers and then slowly she nodded still looking at him. His fingers moved and touched her face.  
She was filled with peace. She had not realized how long it had been since she had felt that way until it had been restored to her. Amazed, she rubbed her temples slowly and then looked up at him.

 

"Thank you, Sarek," she said softly.

 

He did not speak for a moment as he stood staring out of her window at the ocean. Then suddenly, as though he had just heard her remark, he looked at her.

 

"Peace is refreshment that should be denied to no one's table," he replied in a fashion, which made her think it was a quotation. Abruptly he turned and walked to the door. There he paused for a moment and looked back at her. "Miss Grayson...Amanda...."

 

"Yes?" she said, after he had paused for some time.

 

He seemed to straighten his already erect posture even more. "It is of no consequence," he replied and was gone.

 

  
Harris McCullough was uncomfortable. His chair was like the room it occupied, bare and no-nonsense. Hardly like an office at all, he thought, more like a naval command post. Looking at the three Vulcans seated across from him, he hoped he would not be staying long.

 

"Harris," said Sarek, "thank you for coming on such short notice."

 

McCullough waved his hand in a "it's nothing gesture.

 

"My aides and I would like to talk with you more about the problem that you and I discussed several days ago," said Sarek.

 

"The matter of Matriarch T’Pau?"

 

"Obliquely, yes. You recall I told you that we feel she lacks sufficient data on Terra and Terrans. You responded that we wanted her to get to know you better."

 

"Yes.

 

"That is the topic we wish to discuss."

 

"Uh...you mean...."

 

"Getting to know you better," answered Suska, "and you’re getting to know us better."

 

Harris began to fidget, wondering what they were getting at. "I see," he said, still in the dark.

 

"Harris," said Sarek intently, "there are many reasons and I can go into them in detail, and probably will. Some of them, in brief, are that you Terrans are more like us than any other humanoid race we've met, that Vulcan researchers and students always are eager for new data, that T’Pau needs to be persuaded --"

 

"Reasons?" said McCullough, "Reasons for what?"

 

"We have a proposal to make--unofficially--off the record," said Suska. "If you feel required to refuse it, no one need ever know."

 

Completely at sea, McCullough merely stared back at them.

 

"We would like to take a Terran back to Vulcan with us, Harris," said Sarek. 'A volunteer -- someone to live there, in Vulcan fashion. Someone who will teach us about you, whom we will teach about us." 

"Why such secrecy over that?" asked McCullough with some little irritation. "We already have people on Vulcan."

 

"Not in the manner we envision," answered Suska. "This would be a more ...intimate exposure to Vulcan culture."

 

"We want to try an experiment," said Sarek. "A one-to-one Terran-Vulcan relationship."

 

McCullough looked from face to face in growing irritation and lack of understanding.

 

Suddenly Serk spoke for the first time. "They are trying to tell you, Ambassador that they wish to try an experiment in Vulcan-Terran marriage. We wanted you to suggest how we might find the volunteer."

 

"Marriage," said McCullough blankly. "Marriage?"

 

"Yes."

 

The Terran took a deep breath, and then clamped his mouth shut, his mind working furiously. Finally he said, "I don't know if you are aware of the reaction this would cause...."

 

"We have a small understanding," said Suska. ”We know you are very protective about your females. That is why we have made this offer privately."

 

"Females...you mean...." McCullough's face turned redder.

 

"The volunteer would have to be female, Ambassador," said Suska. "We have no females in this delegation... now."

 

McCullough thought of the documents on his desk waiting for the imprinting ceremony next week, and swallowed...hard. "I'll see what...can be...arranged."

 

Suska nodded. Sarek sat with a faraway look in his eyes. Serk stared cynically at the Terran.  
Alice Rowley swallowed convulsively. "You mean they...?"

 

Ambassador McCullough nodded unhappily. "I didn't feel that I could turn them down flat. Do you have any suggestions?"

 

Miss Rowley looked down at her clasped hands. Her mind whirled unpleasantly. "Since they want a volunteer, I suppose the logical thing to do would be to contact the largest computerized marriage brokerage. We could screen any candidates before submitting their names to the Vulcan delegation."

 

McCullough sighed. "The logical thing...." He winced a little and then continued. "Yes. Will you see to it, Alice?"

 

She picked up her stenocorder. "I'll rough out a preliminary application right away." She watched him move toward his office door. "Will you want to see it?"

 

He waved his hand as the door swished open. "You handle it." He stopped with his back to her as the door waited for him. "Do you think...," he said hesitantly, "...that anyone...?"

 

"Don't worry, Harris," Alice said softly. "No woman in her right mind would. Besides...our screening will be... very selective. This way is better than simply telling them no."

 

He nodded and walked slowly into his office. The door whispered shut.

 

Amanda lay sleeping, and the clock beside her bed showed the time: 0233. She sighed in her sleep and turned over. She dreamed.

 

She was at a party, the music soaring giddily. She wandered around among the partygoers, uncomfortable because she was the only one not in costume. They whirled around her: clowns, soldiers, courtiers, cave men, knights...laughing mindlessly. Suddenly she found herself surrounded and the joyful celebrants became ominous and threatening. Just as their hands reached out for her the music stopped and everyone froze.

 

Before her the ring parted and a darkly dressed figure pushed through and held out his hands to her. Thankfully she took his hands and he pulled her away from the threatening crowd. The music swelled again, and her rescuer swept her into a dance. As she looked up at him, she realized with surprise that it was Daniel -- Daniel as he had been before, loving and full of happiness. Joyfully she threw herself into the dance and merged their individual efforts into one marvellously skilled art form. They were alone on a huge dance floor, sweeping across the glittering surface like the wind.

 

Suddenly the music changed, and her partner clutched her to him harshly. The rhythms clashed and pounded, and she grew frightened. As she looked again at her wildly careening partner she realized with a stab of fear that he was masked, and the mask was of Daniel's face!

 

Wildly fearful now, she broke the dance and pulled away from him. He followed closely and would not let her escape. He caught her and they struggled. Clawing, her hand reached for his face, and she pulled away the mask.

 

The face behind the mask was strange and alien. It was cold and icy, frightening her even more. Sobbing, she fled across the immense room, only to be jerked around once more by another masked figure. She tore away the mask only to find the same chilling visage. She jerked away again. Again the flight, again the capture, again the unmasking. The sequence repeated over and over.

 

Finally she was reduced to a sobbing, exhausted heap on the chilly floor of the windy ballroom. A circle of masked figures tightened around her. She felt harsh arms lift her up.

 

Once again she saw the obscene mask of Daniel's face. With an angry sob she ripped it off again. With that violent action they were alone, the menacing figures vanished. The man who held her altered subtly, his grip now gentle, his unmasked face now softer.

 

With wondering eyes she looked at him. "You're not Daniel!" she cried. "You're Sarek!"

 

He looked at her gravely. "I always was," he answered.

 

Amanda woke with a start and a gasp. As she stared blindly around her dark room, the phrase echoed thinly in her head.

 

"I always was...I always was...."

 

As she returned to true wakefulness the impact of the dream began to hit her. Amazed, she put her hand over her mouth and stared into the dark.  
"Sarek...." she whispered, surprised, but...not really.

 

  
Just as Harris McCullough’s chronometer showed that the precise agreed time for the imprinting ceremony had arrived, the door to the negotiation room hissed open and the Vulcan delegation entered. Sarek seated himself opposite McCullough, and his two aides settled on either side. There was a faint murmur from the ceiling as the multicorder began to operate, filing the scene away, second by second, into the vast data banks of the Federation computers. Other sensors eyed them, transmitting their faces, actions, and voices to the communication media and from them to the worlds of the Federation. The traditional printed documents lay between the two parties on the polished tabletop. Nervously McCullough flicked the corner of one with his fingernail. Sarek looked at him calmly, hands relaxed.

 

There was a brief disturbance as the guards admitted the small group of official witnesses. There were several Vulcans, including two very young ones accompanied by a Terran woman, several members of McCullough's staff, and a representative from the Federation Council. Quickly they were seated and the room was quiet again.

 

Finally McCullough spoke, more for the mechanical eyes and ears than for the Vulcans or the audience. "Your Excellency,” he said to Sarek, "these documents represent the agreements reached by us in our talks here in Rio de Janeiro. The Federation is prepared to validate them. How stands Vulcan?"

 

"Vulcan asks the indulgence of the Federation for a moment, Ambassador McCullough," replied Sarek.

 

McCullough nodded.

 

"Before imprinting," continued Sarek, "we would like to inquire about a request made to your office six Terran days ago. We wish to be informed of its status."

 

Nervously McCullough glanced at the cold sensor eyes watching them, and then over his shoulder at Miss Rowley who sat behind him. Alice moved forward and passed him a memo. He glanced at it briefly and then looked back at the Vulcans. They waited impassively.

 

"Ah," stammered McCullough, "the... request was transmitted to the proper channels. I'm sorry to inform the Vulcan delegation we were unable to locate a suitable volunteer." Out of the corner

of his eye, Harris could see the Terran woman in the audience lean abruptly down to one of the Vulcan boys, exchanging whispers.

 

"I see," replied Sarek. The aide named Serk flicked an eyebrow up. Otherwise the delegation remained unmoved. "In that case, Ambassador McCullough," continued Sarek, "Vulcan is ready to imprint."

 

With a great sense of relief McCullough rose and -shuffled through the already arranged documents. The sensitized imprint areas were unsealed. McCullough poised his thumb over the first.

 

"Your Excellency." A female voice from one side startled him. Amazed, McCullough looked up to see the Terran woman from the audience standing by the table. Questioningly he looked at the Vulcans. Sarek was looking at the young woman. He looked back at McCullough and spoke.

 

"Ambassador McCullough, she-who-is-a-teacher, Amanda Grayson," said Sarek gravely.

 

"Miss Grayson," said McCullough, slightly irritated, "this is very irreg -- "

 

"Irregular, I know sir," she said. McCullough glanced again at the watching sensors. She continued. "I am told that the volunteer you were looking for is one for an arranged marriage."

 

"Ah...Miss Grayson!" McCullough was suddenly very nervous again and perspiration began to run down the back of his neck. But he couldn't stop her.

 

"An arranged marriage,” she repeated, "with a Vulcan. Is that correct?

 

Oh, god, thought Harris, and he nodded dumbly. The lenses of the sensors glinted.

 

The woman looked at Sarek. "Who is the proposed Vulcan?"

 

There was a pause and Suska spoke. "Ambassador Sarek."

 

Sarek's eyes were on the tabletop. The three Vulcans were silent.

 

Amanda looked steadily at Sarek. "I volunteer," she said.

 

Oh god, though McCullough, oh god. The Federation man in the audience sat grimly, arms folded.  
o0o

 

Amanda settled back into the comfortable chair she had been given and looked at the men in McCullough’s office in puzzlement. "Gentlemen, I don't understand why you're so concerned. I thought you were looking for a woman."

 

McCullough inhaled deeply, and deliberately slowed his exhalation. "Miss Grayson," he finally said, "do you realize that you have probably been responsible for a diplomatic incident on the interplanetary level?"

 

"I doubt that, Ambassador," she replied coolly. "I'm sure Terra is the only planet that cares whether I marry a Vulcan or not — and probably not very much."

 

"In any case, this arrangement, now that it has been publicly revealed, " he shot back, "will provoke hundreds of reactions from the...shall we say, less rational elements of Terran society. We are presented with a massive security problem. The Vulcans no longer have freedom of movement. You yourself must also be protected, and, most importantly, the entire tone of these primary negotiations between the Federation and Vulcan has taken on the distasteful aspect of a marriage market. There are hundreds of citizens out there who will remember this event as a Vulcan version of the Sabine rape, Instead of the beginning of fruitful relations with a respected and highly worthwhile culture!" McCullough stopped for breath and to let his words sink in. The Grayson  
woman's eyes were big. He glanced at the Vulcan. Impassive, as usual.

 

"Ambassador?" Amanda Grayson’s voice was very small. "Would it make any difference if I say I'm sorry?"

 

"No, Miss Grayson, it will not help very much." McCullough fished out a tissue and began to mop his face and neck. Blast the woman! How much simpler to have done it all privately and then let the news out slowly, in measured pace, with calculated result. My god, he thought, she actually wants to do it.

 

Suska spoke up. "Do I understand that the Federation authorities do not approve of Amanda Grayson as a volunteer for our proposal? Is she...unfit in some manner?"

 

"No, no," McCullough hastened to answer. "In fact, she's in a better position to do this than anyone else. She, at least, has been on Vulcan, seen the people and culture, and has begun to learn the language. None of the candidates we might have secured could have been in as good a position to evaluate their decision as she."

 

"Then., your concern?"

 

"It's a matter of public relations.'"

 

"Losing face?"

 

"No, no. It's...it's..." McCullough dabbed at his neck again and sighed. "It's very difficult to explain."

 

"I will accept your evaluation for now, sir," replied Suska. "It is permitted, then, that we address certain examinations to Amanda Grayson?"

 

"Examinations?"

 

"Merely a matter of eligibility."

 

McCullough stared at the Vulcan and then turned away. "It's up to her."

 

Suska looked at Amanda, and she nodded.

 

"We know you are unusually familiar with us for a Terran, Amanda Grayson," continued Suska. "We are not so familiar with you. It is necessary to determine If the necessary...empathy... Is possible. You understand that we have certain abilities in that area?" She nodded. Suska turned to the Vulcan Ambassador who stood beside him, his attention not on the room and the people In It. "Sarek?"

 

Sarek's head jerked up suddenly and he swiftly glanced at the others in the room. Lastly his gaze fell on Amanda. He started to speak and then stopped to clear his throat. His statement seemed almost hasty and mumbled.

 

"She...is acceptable."

 

Suska raised an eyebrow and looked at Serk. Serk stood with arms folded looking steadily at Amanda. He caught Suska's glance for a moment and then looked back at the Terran woman with a small, wry quirk of his lips.

 

"What is your customary procedure?" said Suska to McCullough.

 

McCullough brushed his fingers across his mouth. "Ordinarily, it is primarily a matter of mutual consent. The parties make any other arrangements they require."

 

"Perhaps," said Suska, "there had better be a formal agreement, a contract, in this particular case."

 

"Yes." They all swung around to Amanda as she spoke. "I want a contract...I have a condition."

 

McCullough felt the blood rush to his face. "Condition!"

 

"Yes."

 

Suska spoke in time to forestall McCullough's aborning diatribe. "She is entitled. Name your condition."

 

"I want a child," she said. The entire room was startled into stillness. She looked around at them. "Ours," she said in explanation. "Surely Vulcan can do it? I mean, even if normally we couldn't...." She stopped in sudden confusion.

 

Suska looked at Serk, whose eyebrow raised and said, "Interesting." The two, in concert, looked at Sarek. He stood staring down at the woman, oblivious to all. Finally, Suska spoke. "It is impossible to guarantee."

 

"I want only a promise to try." Amanda's eyes were on Sarek.

 

As Suska opened his mouth to reply, Sarek spoke. "It is agreed."

 

McCullough suddenly gave up. He stalked across the room and threw his sodden tissue into the disposer. "All right. I'll have Miss Rowley draw up a contract." Angrily he left.

 

The remaining tableau held for a moment, then quietly Suska and Serk moved away out of the room, and left the couple alone.

 

Sarek stood over Amanda as she sat in the chair. His eyes moved over her face. Slowly he held up his hand, two fingers extended to her. As she gazed in puzzlement he grasped her hand and brought it to his. She understood and linked her two fingers to his gently. They remained so for a moment and then Sarek spoke.

 

"Why?"

 

She looked calmly back at him. "I love you," she said matter-of-factly.

 

Sarek shook his head. "Illogical."

 

"Yes, I know," said Amanda and smiled up at him.

 

Amanda picked nervously at the long sleeve of the simple gray neosilk tunic she had chosen to wear and peered out the window at the crowd gathered in front of the Embassy. Sarek, Serk, and Suska stood quietly in the room behind her, ignoring the occurrences outside. The crowd seemed quiet, but there was movement, restless and somehow disquieting. Suddenly there was a piercing signal from the communicator unit in the room. Sarek flicked the receiving switch on and the screen lit up with McCullough’s worried face.

 

"Ambassador," he said to Sarek, "we've got a bad situation here."

 

"Specify," replied Sarek tersely.

 

"We have all of the invited guests inside the chapel, Including Miss Grayson's family, without incident. However, a crowd has formed outside which shows signs of growing ugly. The local security forces have them under control -- for the moment -- but I am beginning to think that it would be inadvisable for your party to try to make the trip here."

 

Amanda had moved to Sarek's side and stood staring at the image of the Terran ambassador. "There are people outside here, too," she said.

 

McCullough wiped his brow. "I'm not surprised. I'm afraid your plans for a small, quiet wedding are out of the question now. I'll be returning immediately by aircar. I'll notify the Security Force to send some men to the Embassy. In the meantime, stay out of sight of the crowd."

 

"As you wish, Harris,” replied Sarek, and both men broke the circuit.

 

Amanda looked at the three Vulcans, and they returned her gaze calmly. She imagined there was a touch of distaste in their faces for the situation, and turned away from the accusing eyes her imagination had created. On the verge of nervous tears, she returned to the window and stood watching the restless crowd, her tense fingers toying with the old jewelled pin her mother had given her to wear for her wedding. She leaned forward to gauge the extent of the crowd, and a sudden shout went up outside. Amanda gasped as the crowd nearest the window surged forward suddenly, stopped only by the firm, ancient railings of the fence that enclosed the Embassy grounds.

 

Immediately Sarek was by her side, two fingers extended. She linked her two shaking fingers with his and he led her away from the window.

 

"Amanda," he said, broadening the ‘a’s’ as usual, "you were told to stay out of sight. It is illogical to disturb the situation any further."

 

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. The tears she wanted to let flow were weighted with the usual wedding anxieties, the fear of the crowd, and now by the gentle rebuke of Sarek. It would be such a relief to cry it all out, preferably on his shoulder. But somehow she could not quite bring herself to touch him without his consent, and she could not imagine him taking her in his arms to let her vent her emotions. It was easier now, once the first struggle with the emotion was passed. She blinked back the tears and nodded to him.

 

"Yes," she whispered. "I didn't realize -- I'll -- I'll keep out of the way."

 

Sarek's dark eyes watched her as she moved to the other side of the room and stood alone with her head down. There was concern for her in him, but he did not move to join her.

 

Serk watched cynically, arms folded.

 

Suska moved toward the window and stood watching for a moment. There was a sudden change in the barely perceivable crowd noises outside. Everyone in the room looked toward the window. Suska explained, "The Security Force has arrived." No one made a reply. Suska continued to watch the scene outside. "Fascinating," he murmured.

 

Amanda startled the three Vulcans with a little cry of anger. She whirled around to them, face blazing. "We're not all like this -- like — like — barbarians: You know how Ambassador McCullough described them -- the less rational element!" Angrily, she flung her hand toward the window. "They are an insignificant minority, a fraction of a percent of our population!"

 

The three men remained still for a moment, startled by her outcry. Then Serk shrugged, an oddly out-of-character gesture, and replied calmly. "They are sufficient to constitute a hazard."

 

Amanda exhaled a little growl of exasperation, and clenched her fists by her sides. Sarek was discomfited. The situation called for some amelioration, but he was at a loss as to how to supply it.

 

Suddenly the door swung open, and Harris McCullough strode into the room. Without preamble he spoke to Sarek.

 

"Is there a Transporter station in this Embassy?"

 

"Yes...in the lower level."

 

"Then let's get down there. On the double, before the crowd here gets any bigger." Harris stood waiting, his hand gesturing to the hall. There was a heartbeat pause as Sarek hesitated. "Hurry, man," said McCullough. "We've got to get you on the Goddard before things get any worse!"

Sarek then moved quickly to the door, Suska and Serk following. As they passed her, Amanda slipped into the group behind Sarek. They hurried down the hall behind McCullough, the crowd noises growing louder outside. Amanda suddenly realized her luggage was still waiting in her room upstairs. She went to her new life with nothing but what she wore. Even her flowers and the gold band she had bought for Sarek to give her were being left behind. She hurried to keep up with the rapidly moving men. Ah, well, she thought, whither thou goest…

The battle cruiser Goddard swung in standard orbit about Terra. Originally built for service in the Axa-nar War, she had been transferred to peacetime duty and placed at the disposal of the Vulcan Council. The Vulcans had highly efficient two-man spacers for the use of their ubiquitous trader teams, but no large transport units with facilities for passengers and defense. The Federation considered the arrangement a good investment, especially since they were trying to get Vulcan into the alliance. No one knew what the Vulcans thought, just that they were  
content to use her.

 

Captain Jose Mollno, master of the Goddard, had left his bridge to meet the incoming passengers in the Transporter room. He had been watching the news media reports via his communication channels and understood what they were leaving behind. The Images shimmered into being above the receiver discs.

 

Sarek stepped down from the foremost receiver and greeted Molino. By now they were friends. "Captain," he said, nodding.

 

Molino nodded back. "Glad to have you aboard again, Ambassador. That's a nasty scene you've left behind."

 

"Yes," replied Sarek without amplification. He turned to assist Amanda from the receiving stage with linked fingers. He brought her forward to the captain. "She-who-is-to-be-my-wife," he said, "Amanda Grayson."

 

Molino nodded to her. "Miss Grayson, welcome aboard."

 

"Thank you, captain."

 

"We are prepared to perform the ceremony, now, ma'am. That is, unless you want to rest...or something."

 

"No, Captain Molino," replied Amanda gravely. "I see no reason not to continue, that is, if the Ambassador wishes...." She looked at Sarek. He nodded consent.

 

"Fine," replied Molino. "If you and your party will follow me to the rec room, we're set up there."

 

"Here is the license, captain," interjected McCullough, moving in from behind the Vulcans.

 

"Thank you, ah, McCullough, isn't it? I believe I've seen you on the media channels."

 

"Unfortunately," said McCullough shortly. He wiped the back of his neck. "I'll only be on board for the ceremony. I'll beam back down before you're ready to warp out."

 

"Time for a toast to the newly-weds then, before you go," replied Molino, and turned to lead the party away.

 

It certainly was not as she had pictured that it would be. The service was the terse, efficient rendition provided by Starfleet for marriages in space. The witnesses were McCullough and as many of the ship's crew that could attend. A beautiful, but unknown female yeoman stood with her; McCullough gave her away; the aides stood with Sarek. There was a moment of uncertainty when the captain asked for a ring.

 

"Is it required?" asked Sarek, and Amanda thought longingly of the gold band on her dresser.

"I suppose not," said Mollno. "Just take her hand."

 

It went on from there and Amanda even found herself revising the vow slightly. Mollno looked a little startled when she re-inserted the ancient promise to "obey," but he took it in stride. There were no other problems until the captain got to "I now pronounce you man and wife." He leaned toward Sarek. "You may kiss the bride."

 

The Vulcan looked at him with a startled eyebrow up. But Sarek had been on Terra long enough to know the custom. Stiffly he leaned toward Amanda and brushed her lips with his. His lips were warm, but totally unconcerned with this quirk of Terran mores. Her pulse beat rapidly for a moment, but then he drew back, and the heat in her face began to fade.

 

The ship's crew had insisted on a wedding party afterward and Amanda was thankful for one note of normalcy. She had some wine to quiet her nervousness and enjoyed the music and high spirits. The Vulcans stood aside quietly, accepting refreshment when they could. Suska seemed to be cataloguing everything for future reference. Eventually Serk edged close to Sarek and silently indicated a cluster of two or three men in the corner of the room that had turned silent. Sarek called to Amanda. She came, wondering what he seemed so grim about. Just as he was about to explain, the voice of Captain Mollno broke over the hubbub of the room.

 

"Shift three, time to report. Shift one, to your quarters. I want none of you hung-over when you report later." The crewmembers grumbled good-naturedly, but they began to disperse rapidly at the captain's command. Molino himself spoke to the men in the corner, slapping their backs and jollying them along. When the room was finally empty he turned back to the wedding party.

"Thank you,"

 

McCullough suddenly put down the cup he had been drinking from. "It's time for me to be going." He moved to the new couple, and took Amanda's hands. "Mrs. .... Mrs. ....I don't know what to call you. Sarek says the family names are unpronounceable for us. Amanda, then, although I barely know you. Let me say goodbye for all the people down there -- all the good people who wish you well."

 

Impulsively she kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

 

"Thank you, Harris, " said Sarek gravely, "for all your help. I hope to be seeing you again." His hand rose In the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper."

 

"Ah," said Harris, "I made you a promise about that -- and I have kept it. It is the only wedding gift I brought with me. It is not the sort of thing I usually use, but it seems particularly right for the time and place. It is very old." His hand rose, fingers struggling for their places.

 

His voice was mild and seemed inappropriate for the majestic, ancient phrases.” May the Lord bless you, and keep you. May the Lord make His face to shine upon you, and give you peace."

 

There was a sudden catch in Amanda's throat and the tears that had threatened all day had to be fought away again.

 

"It is indeed an appropriate response, Harris," replied Sarek. "I am a little startled at the philosophy, as it sounds more Vulcan than Terran."

 

McCullough smiled at them and grasped Amanda's hands again in farewell. "We are not what we seem always, Ambassador. As I said, it is very ancient --many worlds have been built and destroyed around it. Goodbye, my dear." Finally he hurried away and was gone.

 

Captain Mollno cleared his throat and turned to Sarek. "There will be no more liquor issued between here and Vulcan, Ambassador. I think you can relax on the Goddard." He gestured them toward the door to show them to their quarters. "By the way," he said, raising the cup still in his hand. "Good luck." He drank the toast. I think you're going to need it."

 

Amanda had begun to think the same.

 

The trip to Vulcan was uneventful. Amanda spent the time with Suska, learning. It appeared there were so many things to learn, not only custom and ritual, but physical control of immense difficulty, it often seemed. Suska worked with her patiently, always seeming to know when one more try would have her in tears, knowing to tell her to rest for a while, or offering her a book of Vulcan philosophy to study. The books, at least, she found restful and healing, their words seeming to spin a spell of peace and rationality. Her battered spirit welcomed them, but deep down she often doubted that a world could really exist based on such idealistic principles.

 

She saw little of Sarek during that time. She had her own solitary quarters and he was busy consulting with various Vulcans by subspace radio. She reminded herself that she wasn't Vulcan-married, yet, just Terran-married, and was content to wait.

Amanda hurried down the massive stone hallway, pulling at her gown as she went. Almost now, she could do it all herself, the complicated ties and laces. She had to admit it was beautiful, but she wasn't used to so much around her legs. The fine veiling drifted behind her, and she turned a corner abruptly and darted through an open door.

 

Waiting for her in the Covenant Room of Sarek's clan keep was Sarek, Suska -- her teacher now -- and T'lan, matriarch of the clan. It was her first meeting with T'lan and she stopped short in consternation, remembering: A room is to be entered calmly, at peace with it. "With a glance at Suska, whose head was high and eyes alight with warning, she advanced into the room, struggling for calmness, and bowed her head before the matriarch.

 

Silently T'lan touched Amanda's temples and cheeks with her warm fingers. She stood concentrating for a moment and then turned toward Sarek.

 

"Thee were correct, Sarek. There is more here than was thought." Gently she dropped her hands and Amanda stood erect before her. "But," T'lan continued, "it will not be simple. This is, then, in the nature of an experiment. I am not certain I favour making experiments of our Hidden Things."

 

Sarek inclined his head to her. "I submit myself to your decision, T'lan."

"Precisely," she replied. She studied Amanda for a moment. "Terran, does thee understand what we do here?"

 

"My teacher has explained the ritual to me. I understand that I am to be... bonded... mentally...to Sarek, so that we may marry... when the time comes."

 

"Has thy teacher taught thee why? Does thee know the Vulcan way...of marriage?

 

Amanda recognized the delicate avoidance of mention of the pon farr. "I have been taught," she replied. "I understand the Vulcan way."

 

T'lan looked at Suska and Sarek. "I wonder," she said to them, "if she truly understands. How can one, who has not lived with It, know It?"

 

"That, T'lan, Is the whole nature of this...what thee has chosen to call an experiment."

 

T'lan did not answer Sarek, but held out her hands to Amanda. Again the sensitive fingers probed for the contacts on the skull and Jaw. Finally she spoke. "Very well. I give consent. Let us begin."

 

Sarek and Amanda moved to face each other in front of T'lan, who guided their hands to each other's faces as she spoke ancient words of long usage. Finally she placed her hands on their heads, spoke a final word, and a silence fell as the three stood engrossed, eyes closed. Suska hovered unobtrusively near.

 

Finally the tableau broke. T'lan looked at Amanda. "Are thee well, T'amanda?"

 

Amanda opened her eyes and looked at T'lan, and then let out the exhalation she had been unconsciously holding in. "I am well," she replied, finding with amazement, that It was so.

 

Sarek stood looking at her with gentle eyes, filled with a peace he had not known he had missed. What a relief to know again, to know where solace was, to know the source of comfort. He understood, somewhat, now, the anxiety that permeated Terran relationships -- never to really know, never to completely trust, always uncertain, insecure. He touched Amanda's throat at the chin line. The first of her race to find certainty, he thought.

 

Amanda was struck by the gentleness of Sarek's touch upon her neck, and goose bumps blossomed down her arms under the long sleeves of the Vulcan robe. The bonding had certainly meant something to him. She had found it peaceful and there was no fright or apprehension In her now. Somehow, though, she was disappointed. She had been warned by Suska that the bonding might be difficult without the usual help of the female's mind-touch ability. She had expected to feel different, somehow...married, she supposed. But she felt well and pleasant -- not different. The gentle glow of Sarek's face, however, convinced her that all was well.

 

T'lan watched Sarek take Amanda from the room, and a tiny frown of doubt and concern puckered her brow.

 

"Suska," she murmured to the elder Vulcan. "Watch her. Watch them both. I am not certain...." her voice trailed away as she continued staring at the door.

 

"Yes?" said Suska.

 

"Watch her," repeated T'lan.

 

  
It was amazing the immense amount of things there were to be learned. First there was language, especially since not all Vulcan books were tapes that could be read with the Universal Translator. But Amanda had a facility for language and in time no longer had difficulty. Social mores was an immense, convoluted field that she despaired of ever learning. 

 

Eventually, however, the basic ones necessary to social intercourse were mastered, and Sarek was not concerned to have her meet and serve their guests. Philosophy continued to fascinate her, especially now that she could see It actually in practice. She was secretly relieved when Suska took her to see a class of six-year-olds, to find that Vulcan children that age were hellions. Hyperactive, super-curious, they were everywhere. Their composed teacher moved among them, leaving a wake of children trying valiantly to follow her example. Hot-faced, Amanda was reminded of herself, her first year on Vulcan, always late, always running, never quite composed. It helped, somehow, to know that even Vulcans weren't born that way. She did not care, at all, however, for the 10-year-olds she saw later. She had a feeling they were ahead of her already. Her former students, Sron and Sotan, were far beyond needing social training any more, and were calm but proud new students at the Vulcan Science Academy.

 

Sarek and she were together often now. Now she understood the delicious intimacy of being with him, but not touching. He seemed often to come to her for no reason -- Just to be there in the room, while she struggled with verbs, or flower arrangements, or The Logical Commentaries of Surak. Many times he would stay for a few minutes, without even the chance to talk, and then leave again.

 

Once he was gone for several months on Council business. She missed him, but had little time to brood. With her new knowledge, training and experience, she suddenly found, on his return, that she could read happiness in his face at being home, being with her again. It was, she decided, all in knowing how and where to look.

 

"How did it go?" she asked as she touched her fingers to his. She had long ago gotten over the Impulse to kiss him hello and goodbye.

 

His face changed, she could tell, and fell into less happy lines. "She turned them down," was his brief reply.

 

Amanda was deep in The Logical Commentaries when T'lan appeared. She was not aware of her at first, and then jumped with a start that she could not conceal when she realized she was not alone. She bowed her head to T'lan in proper greeting and wondered curiously why she had come.

 

"Are thee prepared?" asked T'lan.

 

"For what, T'lan?" Amanda asked, wondering what ceremony she had forgotten now.

 

T'lan was alarmed, Amanda could see, and concerned. Without a word she held out her hands to the Terran. Obediently, Amanda went to her and submitted to her examination.

 

"Something is wrong here," muttered T'lan, her fingers pressed tightly against Amanda's head. She dropped her hands and looked at Amanda. "Thee feels nothing...here?" Her gentle hand brushed Amanda's forehead.

 

"No," replied Amanda, "what should I feel?"

 

"Thy bond-mate's need," answered T'lan.

 

She drew away from Amanda and rapidly tried to sort out her jumbled data. "Insufficient," she said at last. "There is no way to know what procedures are to be expected, and what, not. Unfortunately we must proceed. It is impossible now to do otherwise."

 

"What has happened, T'lan?" Amanda began to catch some of the matriarch's concern without yet knowing its source.

 

T'lan drew herself up. "The time has come, the time thee has awaited--impatiently, despite thy Vulcan training -- these years. The time of marriage."

Amanda caught her breath. It was true; she had been impatient to finish it all. But she was glad now, for she would come to Sarek more of a Vulcan wife than she would have been on board the Goddard. Suddenly she was filled with anticipation. "Ah," she sighed with relief. "Soon?"

"Very soon. We go now." T'lan grew solemn as she gazed at Amanda's radiant face filled with an emotion that all these years of training still could not erase. She cannot know, T'lan thought, that she, not Sarek, will suffer for any errors we have made. Stiffly she gestured Amanda toward the door.

How odd, Amanda thought, as she followed the matriarch out of the room and down the hall, after all these years to feel like a bride again.'

 

Amanda was very tired. Even the luxury of a shower in her fresher could not dispel her fatigue. She sat down at her dressing table and studied her image in the mirror there. Her hair, which had grown long in Vulcan fashion, was caught up for the shower. Quickly she snatched out the pin and let it fall over her shoulders again -- to hide the fading bruise there. Angrily she brushed her hair out and left it hanging loose. Fortunately, she would not be expected to receive company yet, not for at least another week. The Time of Cloture, the Vulcan 'honeymoon', was not idyllic, she found. Moodily, she stared at herself. Fool, she said to the image, what a stupid fool, to leave all that you had and come here to this uncomfortable place, for this. She had not been...unaware, when she made the decision. She counted herself a woman, not a child, but she hadn't bargained on this. She stiffened as the door swished open and Sarek came In.

He strode across the room, clad in his pahkt, the loose, private-chambers-only, sarong-like garment of the Time of Cloture. He came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. She winced as his strong fingers touched the bruise on her neck. He pushed away her hair and exposed the bruise. Gently he laid light fingertips on it and the ache seemed to lessen.

She pushed away from him, breaking away from his hands. She didn't want the hurt healed. It represented a far deeper wound that his fingers couldn't touch. With short, jerky movements she began to tidy the coverings of the bed.

He came to her again, insistent, touching. "Don't!" she said angrily, twisting away. Sarek looked at her in amazement. "You heard me. Leave me alone for a while."

Sarek was so stunned he stood frozen for a moment. Then unaccustomed rage washed over him. Suddenly he grabbed her upper arm and jerked her around and pulled her to him, demandingly. She pulled back away from him with hard eyes.

"It's been long enough, now. I'm tired of being..." her mouth curled in distaste over the word, “...used."

His fingers tightened on her arm. "Yes," she said, "I know you are much stronger than I. I'm sure you don't need to pay any attention to what I want."

He stared at her with glittering eyes for a moment. Then, carefully, with clear distaste, he pushed her slowly away from him. Releasing suddenly, his fingers seemed repelled by her flesh. He turned on his heel and left, trembling with control.

 

It was amazing how little satisfaction It gave her.

 

T'lan was in meditation when her door signalled. Startled by the interruption, she broke her trance. She puzzled at the unheard-of-intrusion, but spoke to the door. "Come." The calm command countered the no-admit program of the door and it swished open.

"Sarek!" T'lan was astounded by his appearance even more. "Comes thee here, in thy pahkt, to break my meditation?"

 

Sarek noted her use of the formal mode. "I ask pardon," he said, slowly entering the room. "The need is great."

T'lan suddenly recognized the strange look about him -- strain -- and...despair -- in a Vulcan, Quickly she rose, pulled a chair close, and put him in it.

"Tell me," she said simply.

Sarek sat erect in the chair, his proper posture at odds with his attire, a garment of emotion and lack of restraint -- in short, all that was the Time Of Cloture. The experiment," he said in measured tones, the one we have been working on, has failed. I am unable to decide what disposition should be made of it. Were I in my laboratory, I would dismantle, and record the results, hoping to aid another in avoiding the same mistakes. This, however, is not so simple."

T'lan was silent for a moment. "Thee speaks of living beings as though they were measures and gauges. Thee knows this metaphor is illogical. As for dismantling," she raised a brow at him, "does thee consider murder or suicide?"

Her words shamed him and he realized what was needed. He looked at her and made the request.

"Will thee heal me?"

She moved to him and held out her hands. He dropped his head between her fingers.

A great disquiet fell over T'lan as their minds blended and she cane to know what he knew and to experience what he had experienced. Pah! she thought in amazement, and deftly made several delicate adjustments. Then she broke contact.

When Sarek raised his head once more, the un-Vulcan look about him had vanished and there was in his, eyes, if not peace, acceptance.

 

"Thank you," he said to T'lan.

"Let us talk now," she answered, "of what must be done."

 

Amanda was heartsick. Sarek had been gone now longer than he had ever left her since the beginning of the Time Of Cloture. The shame of what she had done brought color to her face. It was, after all, a drive he had little control over. Self-recriminations began to pound at her, so that when she heard the door begin to whine in activating itself, she was at the threshold before Sarek could step inside.

He was startled by her confrontation, face tear-stained, hair in disorder, clothed in her pahkt. Desire rose in him, but he controlled it firmly. The body is commanded by the mind, he thought, even in Cloture...if enough time has passed.

She grasped her hands together, as though in supplication. "Oh, please," she said, "I'm sorry."

Without a reply, he stepped past her into the room and the waiting door finally swished shut. He looked at her without _expression.

"I don't know what to say," she continued. She ran her fingers absent-mindedly through her long hair, trying to order it. "I can only promise it won't happen again."

He continued staring at her, in a quandary. He had not expected another such sudden switch.

She took his silence for implacability. "Oh, please," she said, coming to him, "forgive me." Tears were beginning to slide down her face again and she put her palm on his cheek.

Her touch destroyed his control. The plans he had made with T'lan were forgotten.

"It is no longer of consequence," he said, pulling her to him.

 

The Time Of Cloture passed placidly from that paint. Contacts were re-established with friends and clannraen, who offered delicate congratulations. Studies took up less of Amanda's time now. Less often, too, did she find Sarek with her for her company, as before. More often, she found him looking at her strangely, a guarded look of doubt and caution. She shrugged it off, secretly satisfied that he was no longer smugly sure of her. She grew restless in his house, no longer finding joy in the things she had loved before. She found time an enemy that, unfilled, forced her thoughts to painful topics. Pressure grew for something to occupy her, to distract her. Finally she went to Sarek.

"It is time, I think," she said to him, "to remind you of our contract."

He looked at her blankly.

"The child," she said softly, "it is time for the child."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I will make inquiries today. "

Once the Vulcan Academy had consented to try the experimental gene manipulation necessary for conception of the child of two aliens, and had taken the required gametes from the prospective parents, they let out no information to Sarek and Amanda, other than the terse announcement that, "

"Development is functioning as predicted, with no anomalous factors noted yet." Eventually, however, the word came from the Academy that the experiment had been judged a success. They were to go, Sarek informed Amanda, within a few days, to take their child from the Academy and bring him to the Keep, to home. The days that had flickered past so easily, now loitered by, as her anticipation grew.

The Academy halls reminded her of every starship she had ever been on. They had not even the warmth of age to soften them, despite their long existence. Everything was sterile, shiny, and efficient -- which was typical of Vulcans, she thought. Sarek guided her into a room where they were confronted by the staff that had conducted the successful experiment. She nodded at their words, but heard little. Her eyes searched the room.

Finally, an inner door opened and an assistant wheeled in what was obviously an incubator. The viewing port was turned to them and the parents leaned over the machine, peering down.

Amanda was jolted by the resemblance to Sarek. In vain, she looked for some trace of her in the tiny face, but he seemed all Vulcan. Black hair, black eyes, sombre little face, and, of course, the ears, too large in proportion to the rest. They were taking him out, now, and then he was in her arms.

The child looked mistily up at the two faces hovering above and suddenly began to cry, a thin, wailing lament. Amanda crooned to him and held him close, rocking the tiny body. The wail continued undiminished. She held him out to check for irritation in his clothing, but the snug, one-piece garment they had clothed him in appeared to have no seams, much less fasteners. As she held him so, Sarek put out a hand and caressed the child's hair -- a gesture that surprised Amanda. She was even more startled when the child stopped crying at once and caught at Sarek's hand with his tiny one. There was a heavy feeling in her stomach, and she glanced at Sarek in resentment. He didn't notice, for he was looking at the child with great pride.

"We shall name him Spock, " said Sarek. "I am sure he will carry such an honourable name with dignity."

Amanda started to protest having no say in the naming. Then suddenly a certain portion of her history classes came back to her and she almost laughed. Then she looked up at Sarek's gently beaming face still focused on the child. Fine, she thought, call him Spock. I'm sure no one but me will ever remember. The hard ghost of a smile flickered around her mouth and she turned away from Sarek to take the child away.

 

Amanda turned away from the crying child and wiped the perspiration from her face. Today seemed more unbearable than most Vulcan days. Spock continued to cry, as he had for almost every waking hour for the last month. The Academy had found nothing wrong with him and Amanda was left to cope with the problem. She had tried everything she could think of in the last half-hour and the volume; had not even wavered. Bitterly she thought of how easily Sarek could hush the crying with a touch of his hand. With a sigh she turned back to the baby's pallet and picked him up. There was a brief pause as he felt her hands, but then he resumed even louder. Wearily she rubbed and patted his back. 

Suddenly he gave a tiny hiccough and stopped. She pulled him off her shoulder to check, and then he lost his last meal. She stood there holding the again screaming baby suspended, staring at him. It occurred to her that he had never smiled at her, or seemed to enjoy her presence. It had been a month of constant protest.

Suddenly she put the child down again and walked away. He continued to scream. She ignored him. She opened the communicator unit located in Sarek's desk area. She had little trouble getting whom she wanted.

Jose Mollno was surprised, but very sympathetic, when she made her request.

"Certainly, Miss Grayson, I'll make the arrangements. Let me know when you are ready to beam up.

Dully, she signed off, and then realized what he had called her. Just as eager, she thought, as everyone else to have it fail.

Slowly she began the tedious process of gathering the belongings of years -- so much more than she had come with — crying while she decided what to keep, what to leave behind. Strangely enough she found herself keeping her pahkt, then, angry with herself, throwing it to the floor. The baby continued to cry fretfully.

 

Several hours had passed before she was satisfied with her packing. The child had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. Despondently she dressed herself in the gray tunic and hose she had worn to Vulcan. She went to the baby and looked at him. He whimpered in his sleep. Her hands went out to take him, but stopped short as she imagined his howls of protest at her touch. Angrily then, she turned away and went to her mirror for one last time. She stared at herself for a moment and then gathered up her long hair in one fist, her other hand groping for her scissors. For a moment she could not see to cut, but she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and poised the scissors.

The door swished open and Sarek was there, "What are you doing?"

Quickly, she put down the scissors, and tried to compose her face. "I...ah...I thought I'd cut my hair. I've grown a little bored with it.

He was standing there bluntly, Just inside the door. His black eyes bored into her, and she knew that she hadn't answered the question he'd asked.

"Do you mind?" she asked lightly, aware of her double meaning.

"Yes." His short answer frightened her and she looked at him. She could tell he was angry by the way he held his mouth.

"Did you think," he asked, "that I would not be told about your call to the Goddard?"

"I suppose I did."

He inhaled deeply and folded his arms. "This is not to be done."

She ignored his statement.

"I'm leaving, Sarek. I'm going to stay on the Goddard until their next departure and then return to Earth."

"The child?"

Amanda was silent for a moment and then turned to her mirror to inspect her appearance. "Your child, Sarek. He doesn't need me. I doubt if he ever will."

He spoke softly to her, as to a child. "This is Vulcan. You are my wife. I will not allow it."

She turned from the mirror to face him. "You don't understand, Sarek. I'm leaving you."

"Impossible."

His lack of reaction infuriated her. "I'll show you if it's impossible!"

"You don't seem to understand, my wife," he said, walking slowly toward her as he spoke. Gently he pushed her down onto the dresser seat. He loomed over her as he stood looking down. His next words were harsh. "There is no divorce on Vulcan, but death."

His words echoed eerily in her mind, and she shook her head as if to deny what she knew must be logically so. Then she grew very calm, looking up boldly to meet his eyes. "That might be arranged," she said sharply, without really knowing which of them she meant.

He reached for her then, and suddenly frightened, she ducked away and ran for the door. Faster and stronger, he blocked her.

Sarek's mind was a whirl and T'lan's question kept echoing in it — "murder or suicide?...murder or suicide...?" Blindly he reached for Amanda and caught her by the throat and shoulder.

Amanda knew she could not break his grip. In a panic, she suddenly became aware of her aloneness. Nothing around her was familiar, especially Sarek. Even the hot air that blew in through the window was strange...and the child that was hers, but never to be hers. As she realized how isolated among strangers she was, she almost fainted with terror.

Sarek's hand trembled on her throat and for one blind second it almost tightened. Then he saw the mad beat of the pulse in her neck. He looked in her eyes and saw the terror. As his eyes caught hers she suddenly struggled against his grip, like a frightened bird, about to injure herself in panic.

Without thinking, he reacted. The hand on her shoulder clamped down, finding the pressure points with ease. She froze with a stricken look in her eyes, and then slowly began to collapse. He caught her in his arms as she fell, holding her gently.

Tenderly he pushed her hair away from her face, and touched her wet lashes with compassion. As he looked down at her strained face, he remembered the look in her eyes when she panicked. It made him sick with disgust, that she had feared him. He saw now the error he had made in discarding T'lan's plan for a deeper mental probe to examine the Betrothal Bonding. He had been so sure he knew her.

He held her inert body close, not to comfort her, but himself. He faced the bitter truth that, for a brief moment, she had had reason to fear him.

"Enough," he said out loud. "This will continue no longer. He positioned his free hand on her cheek and temple. He closed his eyes, preparing to delve deep into her mind, determined to make contact, to break down any barriers there might be.

After he had withdrawn from Amanda's mind, Sarek put her on the bed and let her sleep. He waited. The child fretted once, but calmed instantly at the touch of Sarek 's hand.

Amanda woke suddenly, blinking. He stood by her side. She put her hands to her temples and looked up at him in amazement.

"Is that all?" she said. She began to laugh gently. "My god, is it that simple?"

He nodded without replying. She sat up and looked at him. "But I know you now," she said, "...what you are...what you were...what you will be...always. What's happened to me?"

"What should nave happened years ago, at the Bonding."

She was still amazed. "But what is it? I've never-" she stopped with a gasp as he took her hand. The contact was an unbearable pleasure.

"It is a phenomenon," he said, "that we hide carefully and shield with safeguards that go back to antiquity -- because we respect its power. It is something your people have never known. It is a certainty -- a lack of doubt -- concerning another person."

"Why, you mean love," she said incredulously.

Sarek's eyebrow flickered upward. "It is a fact that there are often many different names for the same thing. Just as you and I have been looking for the same thing -- in different ways."

He released her hand and held out his two fingers in ritual invitation. Cautiously, she touched her two to his in a link. The sensation was pleasant, but mild. Suddenly she saw the point behind the tradition, and it occurred to her, at last, that many other Vulcan traditions had their points also.

 

The End

Transcribed by Terry.


End file.
